She deeply disliked being so fearful, but had actually grown rather comfortable over the years with disappointing herself. She used to try. Just leave the house by the front door once a day. Then, after a while, she’d try for once a week. Then once a month. Then, Why bother? she thought. Let the world come to me, and I’ll set out a little lunch. What she hated most was that she’d become one of them. Another Lichporter grown self-indulgent and eccentric, the subject of sidewalk gossip: Oh, her, Mrs. Bowe … yes, yes … so sad. She doesn’t leave the house, you know, unless there’s a you-know-what, not unless someone D-I-E-S.

Autore: Ari Berk